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You wake in something soft… the faintest trails of candlelight flicker around you as you force your eyes to open. Gradually.
Your head is pounding. Slowly… you force your eyes to open wider. It’s smells… strong. Like some ancient exotic bloom, mixing carefully with the ash of the fireplace and the trails of smoke from the candles.
A dark room, filled with a bed, a chest at its foot… and you squint, suddenly catching the scent of more than smoke and flowers.
Food… ripest fruits and fragrant wine… sweet, sugary little cakes piled high on a filigree platter.
Someone wants you full, and enticed and…
Your memory swims, flooded with the images from before. That masque, the dancing and music and drinking. Your stomach swirls at the memory of the wine, so heady, how it instantly took you away. How you danced with so many men, your skirts fluttering around the ballroom. Passed from one stranger to another, faces all masked and brightly painted. Secrets for the night.
Until he stopped you… that golden face, ringed with a crown. His ebony clothes were like shadow you recall, and the scent of him… strong and sharp and clean, like citrus and spice and herbs. You remember only him for the remainder of your fuzzy memories, how he made you laugh, how he drew you against the hard planes of his body as you danced.
How he kept your wine goblet brimming with that delicious vintage, best you had ever tasted. His body sparked with power and magic, not unlike your own…
But as you try to feel that spark, your sorcerous power, it sleeps. Your heart races, eyes darting around the room as to the cause. But it is in vain. You stand from the bed, your legs shaking as you move.
The door handle is so cold in your grasp, you jiggle the metal.
Locked.
But as you hover by the door, summoning the strength to try again, you feel the metal moving in your hand. The click of a key in the lock deafening you just before the knob begins to turn.
“There you are,” a male voice fills your ears, your mind, dripping with expectation. With a velvety seduction that wraps around your spine. “I was waiting for you to rise…”
He steps from the darkened hallway into the dim light around you. Your breath catches in your throat. That scent of his cloys in your mouth and covers your tongue. Citrus and spice and herbs.
That maskless face smirks down at you now, no more gold or crowns to cover his devastatingly handsome features. Your gut twists to stare into his eyes… were they always so deep red? Blood red?
You can’t recall, not that you wish to, distracted by that sharp cut of his chin, the edges of his cheeks and the rakish cant of his brows. Your breath heaves as he draws inside, closing the door behind him, no key in the lock you notice… and he brushes past you towards that waiting table of sweets and fruits and delights. He takes a little cake, white and square, and pops it in his mouth whole.
“After a night of such festivities, I’m surprised you haven’t even touched a thing, darling,” he purrs. Keeping his back to you, he pours himself a silver cup full of that sweet-scented wine. “If it isn’t to your liking, you have but to ask. After all,” he turns, goblet slowly raising to his full and grinning lips, “there is nothing I can’t take as the Vampire Ascendant…”
Of course. You swallow hard. It was him… Astarion… Vampire Lord. You had hoped for a glimpse, even at a masquerade. A foolish hope. That stranger that had wooed and won you… he had been so charming and warm… physically warm. You had not expected him to be the Vampire, not one of those cold, hardened, powerful beings you had studied since youth. But here he was. The seductive flirtation. The one that had kept you by his side and in his arms until the wine took hold of everything. The man that now landed you here, your heart began to thump hard and painfully against your ribs. That arrogant, seductive press of his lips on the rim of his cup smiling as you couldn’t look away.
“Well?” he pauses, cup half lowered as he reaches for another cake, pinching it between his fingers. “Aren’t you going to… indulge?” he reaches that offering towards you. “Just a little? For me, darling?”
You can’t help it, your feet drawing closer, the scents of vanilla and sugar making your mouth water. Reaching out your hand, he just frowns at you, tutting his tongue. His lips twitch, crimson eyes fixed on your own mouth.
You take his meaning clearer than crystal.
And you open wide.
It fills your mouth, the sweetness overwhelming your senses, even as he leaves his fingers between your lips as they close.
So strange and delightful, the intrusion, you watch as he slips them out and sucks them clean for himself. “Mmm, delicious…”
You force yourself to swallow the cake nearly whole. Reaching for the silver carafe to pour your own cup of wine. “Here,” he croons, “take what you need. I have less need of it than you will.” He moves the cool metal of his goblet into your reaching fingers. It smells so good, sweeter than what you recall from last night. You close your eyes, letting the wine flow down your throat and quench your thirst.
You feel him slide beside you, voice so close to your ear, his breath tickles. Warm breath… not like the vampires you have read about in your books…. “You know why you’re here, don’t you, my sweet?”
“You must want something,” you let the words from your lips the second you lower his cup.
“Well, naturally, something you want too, or else, you wouldn’t have been here last night, not in your state, darling….”
You turn your head to look him square in the eyes. Confusion furrowing your brows, uncertainty darkening your mind. “I came for a good time, I came to offer my services as sorcerer, along with…”
He waves his hand, long fingers flicking with irritation. “I have no need for,” he scowls, “sorcerers. Let’s focus on your offering of services, however…. Surely you know what was being sought after at my ball?”
You don’t move… mind racing through the hazy visions and conversations that led you into that bright and colorful ballroom.
His eyes narrow, gaze sharpened at how you hesitate. “All those people… those females… looking for a chance to be chosen…”
“Chosen for what?” you make the words leave your thickened throat.
“Perhaps showing you will be more… delicious than simply telling you,” he’s purring, drawing close enough to close that distance between you. “Besides, you can feel it, can’t you?” he’s whispering right into the flesh of your neck. “The way your blood is singing for me… you have been touched by vampiric magic, little sorcerer, and it calls to mine.”
You hold your breath, thinking of those years… of reading and studying and observing the vampire. Years closed in ancient libraries and towers of dark sorcery… the sting of vampiric touch ghosting on your skin…
And now, one begins to wind the wiry strength of his arms around you… hands gripping into the curve of your ass to pull you closer.
“Surely, you’ve noticed, your magic doesn’t answer its call here. It, too, purrs to be tamed.” He looks down at you, white fangs flashing, “Just like you.”
You release the air in your lungs, lost in that face, swallowed already by that hungering leer.
“That’s why I chose you last night, to help me create a new kind of spawn…” Astarion’s smirk twists, hands beginning to roam over your back. “One that requires more… traditional methods than draining a body with a single bite.”
He laughs, low and thick.
You don’t fight it, the way your supple form melts against him, and you realize just how warm, how alive he feels. Raising your hand, it shakes, your fingers press against the side of his neck, tracing over the telltale scars of his own turning.
His pulse throbs under your touch.
“Vampire… can’t…” you pause, his face twisting into dark amusement, watching you puzzle out his meaning.
“No, vampires aren’t warm, can’t consume such decadent sweets, or have hearts that beat like mine. All the pleasures and… potentials of a man… they are mine now. The Ascendant, ready to fill this realm with enough spawn and progeny to bring it to its knees forever.”
Thoughts whirr in your skull, a living vampire… ascendant he’s called, but surely… Your face is blanching, you can feel it. That thrill floods you as his lips press against your neck. “There is no such thing as a living vampire… to create living spawn…” you rasp, your body humming to be so near him, already addicted to the feeling it is to be in his arms… between the hazy memories of dancing in the starlight to the way you tremble now in this darkness.
“Oh, darling…” he catches the soft lobe of your ear between his teeth, gently just letting those points drag over it, “there are no other vampires like me, and there never will be again. Think of what I can do, the Vampire Master, a brood of my offspring, my blood in their veins, an army worthy of my reign.”
You shiver, his ask, your reality, dawning on you. “Last night… all those guests… those females…”
“Prospective consorts… willing mates,” he growls as his caresses still tease down your neck to skate along your collarbone. “Willing females, eager for my bed. I could practically smell the desperation on their skin. But you…” He pulls away, eyes closed as he breathes in deeply against your breasts, “You came prepared. The scent of your magic and your fertility, your heat so strong, it’s amazing I didn’t just bend you over right there in my ballroom, darling.”
That… that makes you tremble. A noise escapes your slackened lips, and it shocks you… a moan, deep in your throat, your body drawn in by the scorching warmth of his frame, the fiercely wrapping embrace of his arms as they clutch you.
Those hands of his, those long and dexterous fingers, exploring towards your front now. The thin silk of your tight fitting ball gown is like a second skin, letting your belly feel every scratch of his nails, every grip of his fingers.
“You smell so…” he lifts his head, licking his lips, baring his fangs, “…delicious.”
“Are you going to bite me? Turn me?” you reply, voice shaking as all your knowledge about his kind surges through your mind.
“No, no, darling,” his sharp features quirk, amused, enticed, “eager are we? No, it will take no small amount of restraint on my part, my treasure. To make these living spawn, you will need to be living… and your warm flesh will do oh, so nicely.”
Suddenly, his fingers are curling around your cheek, palm cupping your chin as he lifts your face towards his grinning mouth. “I am so fortunate you waltzed into my ball, fresh, slick heat between your thighs and skin sizzling with magic.”
“So fortunate,” you breathe that echo of his words, mesmerized by the way his breath floats over your cheek, into your own gaping, begging mouth. “You wish me to be your consort…” It’s not a question, not when his mouth crashes into yours, that taste filling your mouth, the sweetness and fragrance of the food and drink coating his tongue.
Then, it overwhelms you, that scent on his skin, bergamot and more. You feel nothing but the caress of his mouth, the famished pull of his lips, the probing dive of his tongue to tangle with yours. He sucks the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless, not bloodless. His voice hums into your mouth as he speaks, his kiss pressing harder. Unabating. “The door is open, my darling, should you choose to leave this… to forsake such an opportunity. To abandon this chance to be my consort forever .” His hands wind behind your head, laced into the snarls that remain there from the night before. His pressuring touch opens your mouth all the more, making your neck bend for a deeper, richer taste. “But we both know… we both can feel how bad you want this too.”
You have no words, no answer to sound on your tongue. But your answer is firing down every limb, like lightning shooting through your every nerve. You are consumed, enthralled without magic, drawn in by the man who wooed you all evening, the man who makes your shudder with desire, with the power that crackles under his touch. Your hands grip into the beaded silk of his tunic, fingers flying to slip each little button from its hook.
His own fingers claw into the silk of your dress, gripping into that deep cut of your collar. It gives under his strength, tearing with each pull he makes.
Until it falls softly from your skin, puddling at your feet to leave you naked, skin warmed by the touch of his hands as he hastily traces every curve, every inch. You pull the edges of his jacket apart, gasping into his mouth to finally touch skin.
His skin. His warm flesh.
It is so… strange, unlike anything you had heard of. Mesmerizing. And you shudder as his hands begin to explore your more… intimate places. His touch grates his nails slowly up your belly, grabbing at your breasts in them both. “Gods, you’ll be magnificent, won’t you? Swollen and full as we do the impossible, as the undead breed a new creation,” he growls, lowering his lips to trail to their supple weight. That pad of his tongue catches one pebbles nipple, drawing it into the heat of his wet mouth with a commanding suck.
You cry, a noise unbidden tearing from your throat, your body on fire, desire pooling between your thighs as he tugs and sucks and squeezes your breasts. Your arms wrap around his neck, bracing him harder, closer into your bosom.
And then he laughs. “You sweet, little thing, so light, so small… I could toss you into my bed with a single arm.” He pauses, looking up from where he’s suckled, your pale flesh now peppered with round red marks. His marks, claiming you. Then that crimson gaze darts beside you. The only warning you get before he does scoop you in one arm, lifting you over one broad, muscled shoulder, to toss you back into the middle of that downy bed.
You laugh, nervously, excitedly, bursting with anticipation. Maybe it is the wine, or his incomparable beauty, or the pull you are swallowed by, desperate to have him on you… in you… filling you. Gods, if anyone could bring about a new creation, it would be him .
You stretch against the covers, your eyes fixed on how he creeps beside the edge, how his elegant clothing slides right off the smooth, pale, sculpted form beneath. You lose your breath, your pulse pounding as you take in the sight of him.
His grin widens, hungry, predatory, eyes locked with yours as you watch him unlace the fine fabric of his breeches. Your mouth goes slack to see him… to see it . It springs up—pale, veiny, protruding and twitching. “Mmm,” he groans, one hand stroking himself, the other pulling the rest of his trousers free from his perfect body. “On your hands… and knees, darling. I hear tell it will make you take me in all the deeper, make you soak in my seed…”
You slowly roll, raising up as he’s told you, eyes still watching his elegant form from over your shoulder as he climbs behind you.
“…make you swell with child all the more, darling.” He gives a bubbly giggle, his bright teeth flashing as he tosses his head, “maybe even two at a time.”
His hands tug at your hips, one hand next splaying between your shoulders, pressing your head towards the bed. Folding you over for him to fuck.
You wait for his cock, for something big and blunt to spear right through you.
But you feel something else, the lightest touch up the nerves of your inner thigh. The warm pads of his fingers sliding higher until they part you, slipping in so easily into your drenched and dripping folds. Your hips rise, bucking into his touch, those long dexterous fingers sweeping and circling, desperate to please even as your arousal drips down your thighs. “Such a good little consort, your body’s already given you away. I could feel it, smell it, the moment I set eyes on you. Your heat, your power… ready to take me all… the way… inside.”
Those three, long fingers press into your channel, crooking over the ridges of muscle that clench around his welcome intrusion. Your back spasms, your thighs shake. But even as he slips another finger between your walls, you groan, fumbling to keep your head up, stretched so wide that you balk at the thought of what he must be readying you for…
It overcomes you then, as his fingers catch on some secret spot that sends you into shaking rapture, shattering and flooding your arousal over his hand as you come. So all-consuming, he’s laughing slowly from behind you, his fingers still fucking you until the last quake of your orgasm subsides. “You’re so wet, my darling, so hot and just begging to be filled to bursting. I couldn’t have picked a more delicious womb to swell, I think.”
You feel those skillful digits slipping out of you, another low laugh in his throat as you cast your glance behind you.
Your lungs burn, collapsed as you struggle to breathe at his beauty. All hard edges and glinting eyes and seduction in his smile that makes you burst into flames with need. Gods, if you had known that the beating heart and warm blooded man that seduced you last night had been the Ascendant searching for a consort, this surely would have happened sooner….
“Can’t take your eyes off me, darling?” he purrs, hand gripped around his cock as he sweeps it into the dripping seam of your legs, “I’m not surprised. Let’s see just how much you’ll take, hmm? Let’s create something new, little consort of mine.”
He sheathes deep inside you in a breath, one that steals your air and makes your squirm to be filled so much… so quickly. He plunders you, fucking you, so deep and relentless. Your body spirals, that heat stoked to an inferno, raging in your belly tingling over your skin, every which where he has touched you and sucked you. Nipples strained to peaks, the red scratches of his nails over your skin stinging with delicious pain. “You’re going to look… so nice… round and swollen…” he growls behind you, already breathless as he holds nothing back in his thrusts.
You buck harder in reply, that heat in your blood ignited hotter than the sun, and your only salvation, the only quench to your thirst, lies in what he will fill you with when he comes, when he’s done fucking into you. It is a fire that will consume you, a pain that will tear you apart before you are put back together. And as he strokes you, that thick, pulsing length of his dragging hard and fast inside, he sweeps you away. Pleasure blooms in your gut, hot and wild, that blunt head of his pummeling so hard against some secret spot, you lose all control.
You scream. You shatter. Never before so broken and filled before. Not with any lover you had ever taken. And there would be no others now. You swear your heart stops, your breath stilled as if you are the one undead. The spasms of your core clench and ride his thrusts, his cock thick as he hitches and beats against your ass. Nails sink into your skin, and you cry his name at the edge of blissful pain that shudders down your spine.
He slams into with finality, his voice groaning and grating as he pours his praises over you as his cock pumps and twitches into you. Spurting spew after spew of his hot seed. “Good girl… my lover… my consort. So hot and wet… you’ll be ready for more of my cum, I’m certain of it.”
Your muscles shake involuntarily, trapped on your hands and knees, feeling him unsheathe as quickly as you had been taken. You feel his arms, warm and strong, wrapping around your shoulders, guiding you to lay back into the welcoming embrace of the bed, nestled neatly into his chest. His fingers grip gently around your chin, lifting your panting mouth into his kiss. “Rest for now, my consort, my darling.”
Something creeps between your thighs, fingers exploring over your mound, sweeping into the slick of your collective cum. He growls, content, aroused at the feeling of his seed seeping. You squirm, the minimal contact already searing down your veins to pool with more desire.
“More than ready for more, aren’t you? Good,” he smirks his approval into your shaking lips. “Consider yourself home now, my sweet. No luxury spared to pamper you, to give you comfort as you grow round with the impossible…”
You feel him go rigid at the mere thought.
“Little mighty vamplings, mine to command…”
His hand rises from your mound, pressing the heat of his touch over your belly.
“…ours to raise, to train, ours to create more and more…”
He looks at you then, pressing onto his elbow, “Now, shall we ensure this little… miracle of undead life?” His hand ghosts over your belly, your head lolling on his arm.
You give a sultry smile. “Whatever you say, my lord.”
————
Months later, you lounge in the glow of the solarium, the pale light of dawn amplified through the glass as the air grows warmer. The sun creeps higher as the dawn breaks. You run a hand absentmindedly over the swell of your belly, the little darlings jostling around as you try to catch your breath.
“Fighting already, aren’t they?” his silken voice caresses right in your ear. His lithe, lean form crouching beside your daybed. “Little rogues… little sorcerers… mighty even if they are small…” Astarion muses, watching how your bump moves and shifts beneath the soft fabric of your gown.
Then, his bright crimson eyes raise to meet yours, a desirous shine in his stare, a hungry twist to his lips. “I read that females, heavy with child, crave more of what put them in such a condition, darling.”
He’s drawn closer, sharp edges of his handsome face just a breath away.
“What do you say, my treasure?” he purrs, warm breath tickling your cheek, his scent filling your every sense and making your mouth water, making your thighs wet.
“Gods, yes…”